Deep Space
by Yugoslavia
Summary: Commander Mars chronicles the demise of Team Galactic.


_Journal Entry #143_

_29 June, 2008_

_Commander Mars_

* * *

_I hate what happened in _**_Celestic Town_**_._

* * *

Mars stared down at her plate of food, contemplating it. A tall mound of mashed potatoes dominated the small greasy pile of chopped mystery meat and an even smaller pile of broccoli. The spork and napkin sat in its plastic wrap, completely left alone. A frosty can of Cherry Diet Coke rested beside the tray in a ring of it's own moisture. Her fingers curled around the can, immediately releasing her grip when the frigid surface touched her fingertips. She scowled under her breath, before her bored frown returned, staring ahead at the wall, lost in thought.

Sitting on an aluminum bench, far away from any of the grunts in the room, she sat hunched over her tray of food uncomfortably. The black latex material clinging to her thighs had become stretched and irritated as she tried to adjust her sitting position and avoid the sharp edges of the bench. Though she tried to adjust her legs as ladylike and discretely as possible, the umbrella of her own white skirt draped over her thighs and rear and made reaching herself impossible.

She sat there, stewing in her own thoughts and frustration, looking down with an indifferent expression at her food, and then back to the wall. Drumming her fingers on the table, she took a sip of her Coke, sleeve stretched over her palms and fingers to keep the condensation from her skin, and then looked down at her report.

* * *

_I would have done it literally any other way if given the choice. What happened to Jupiter was terrible. What Cyrus had to overcome to finish the job was terrible. What I did was inexcusable._

_I don't get to change it, and that's the bottom line. I've never been a fan of bottom lines anyway._

_What gets me most of all is nothing I've already said. It's the fact that nobody believes me._

* * *

"Well, it's not quite there, but it's something," said Saturn, setting his own tray down on the opposite side of the aluminum picnic table. His focus was on a clipboard in his hand, with several papers flipped over the metal clip atop the plastic board base. As soon as he set the clipboard down with a triumphant, dramatic clatter, he looked up at Mars and offered a grin with no teeth.

Looking up at Saturn, Mars quickly picked up her spork and stuck it in her mashed potatoes, quickly stirring the pile on her tray. She pretended not to care, though she kept looking up from her mashed potatoes up to Saturn. Her irritation got the better of her, and she looked up, setting the spork aside.

* * *

_Saturn is usually so cool about things. He's my go-to guy for these things. When I can't think, even aloud, he helps me along. Without mincing words, I know I can't always trust my judgment on things. I'm very good at thinking things are what they aren't. I know I'm hard to read, even for myself, but these things just come out. These things happen uncontrollably. Of course I regret them, and I don't always want to make sense of them. Saturn can do that very well. _

_So when he comes in and gives me his opinion, and it's exactly what I was thinking, it really disturbs me. I mean really._

* * *

Saturn swung his leg over the picnic bench and sat down. He immediately hunched over as to get close to Mars, flipping the clipboard around to face Mars, pointing to a highlighted spot with his pen. "See here? Those are positive signs of radiation on the far north sector of Mount Coronet. The Spear Pillar has to be there. Can you believe this? This is the closest we've gotten, ever!" said Saturn. He stuck his own fork in his mashed potatoes, mashing in a small flat square of butter into the mix, looking up at Mars as he did so. He paused. "Um, Mars? Your spork?"

Mars looked down at her spork, lifting it out of the mashed potatoes. Thick gray globs stuck onto the plastic wrap that covered the spork. Her head drooped as she scowled into her chest, avoiding eye contact with Saturn or any of the grunts that filled the room. Taking a deep breath she returned to the focus of the conversation, setting aside the wrapped spork and folding her hands together.

A wandering look to the side of her tray brought a glob of mashed potatoes to Mars' attention. It sat atop a half filled form. She quickly wiped it up while Saturn read his clipboard. She quickly reread what she had written beneath the fresh stain to make sure it was legible.

"Saturn," she began, setting aside the form and looking up at him. "Why are you here, exactly?"

Saturn delicately swallowed his mouthful of mashed potatoes, quickly wiping his lips with a napkin. He pointed to his clipboard with his spork. "I needed to tell you about this."

"I was the one who got kicked out of the Commander's Lounge, not you," said Mars. She leaned closer to her tray. "Cyrus would be annoyed," she hissed quietly.

"I can forgive you in private, Commander. I don't outrank you." Saturn flipped the clipboard around to face him, continuing to read the material on the pages behind the one he had just shown.

* * *

_And when I said he came in, I mean he really came in. Saturn's not even supposed to be in the same room as me. That's an entrance right there. Cyrus always says something about the empathic transfer of emotion and that it will corrupt his team. One bad apple will spoil the whole thing. I think it's cool, but not necessarily practical. Even if it is kinda dumb, I wouldn't ever violate it. That's what made me panic about Saturn, right from the start. We mutually respect Cyrus at an equally high level. That's an entrance. It's out of character. Already, something is afoot. _

_He doesn't even have to speak. I can guess Saturn's either really angry or really cares, maybe even both. If he knows what's really going on, maybe he can speak into it. Maybe he's here to make sure I learn my lesson. I have the best of faith in his abilities now and always._

* * *

"You certainly don't outrank Cyrus. Don't override his decisions."

Saturn flipped his clipboard over. Slowly, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"I understand what we're doing is important. I understand work comes first, even if it means foregoing your private lunch area," said Mars. After many attempts at tearing open the clear plastic side of the spork's wrapper, she finally tried the side covered in mashed potatoes. The wrapper on her spork came undone with a hard tug. She tossed the wrapper to the side. When she realized she had paused, she continued, resuming stirring her mashed potatoes. "I understand we have reason to celebrate. I also think that Cyrus has specific designs on the world, and it starts with us. It starts with us obeying, hm?"

Saturn spread his arms, metaphorically highlighting the picnic table. "This is a creative solution to a problem that interferes with carrying out Cyrus's will," he stressed. "My only opinion is that I have no opinion."

Mars frowned, looking deep into her mashed potatoes. The mess that covered her fingertips from getting the wrapper off made her scowl. When she went to lick her fingers, out of the corner of her eye she caught some grunts pointing and laughing. She looked them dead in the eye and gave them a rude hand gesture below where Saturn could see on the table.

"Why are you so upset? I know Jupiter wouldn't have made a point to come see you," said Saturn.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"You can say you didn't want to see her, but deep down I know you're disappointed she didn't want to see you," said Saturn, "even if it was to taunt you."

Mars was silent, staring at Saturn.

"I agreed to make personal sacrifices, not team sacrifices," Saturn continued. "This wasn't my choice, it was what was needed."

* * *

_I didn't expect that._

* * *

"This wasn't my choice either," huffed Mars, focusing her attention down at her food. She quickly scooped up a glob of mashed potatoes onto her spork and ate it.

"Was it? What did you think was happening when you went up against Jupiter at Solaceon Town? Fate?"

"**Celestic Town**," said Mars. As she spoke she wiped her mouth and quickly took another bite to maintain her focus on her food.

* * *

_The one thing I love about Saturn is he can keep a cool head about things, no matter what. This was the exception. I know he still has a cool head, but he never raises his voice. I guess I shouldn't be surprised at anything he does from now on. It was different from the start. Everything is new from now on. I can't expect the expected, and maybe he can't either. Maybe I've blown the cover off something horrible he thinks I could never be capable of. Worst of all, maybe he knew I was capable of this. Maybe he expected me to reel it in like I always do. Even worse, maybe he knew I couldn't handle it. He's taking it personally. See? I can't expect anything anymore._

* * *

"Did Cyrus just intervene because he wanted to?"

Mars shook her head, looking down. "He wanted to see to it personally anyway."

"That's why he sent you. You are his personal touch. That was your job," Saturn raised his voice.

Mars was silent.

Saturn sighed, returning his voice to normal. "Look, I didn't want to tell you about finding a radiation signal on Mt. Coronet because I knew you'd be all over it."

"No..." said Mars. Though her arms were crossed, she stared at Saturn attentively, waiting for him to continue.

"Of course not. And I'm not an idiot, it's just not your thing," said Saturn. "If I told you we were that much closer to the goal maybe you would a little more, but that's not the point, and I accept and expect that. Again, I'm not an idiot. I don't want your false enthusiasm, and I'd hope you respect me enough to not give it to me, and so far you've done a pretty good job with that."

"I respect you, a lot," Mars said quietly. Her eyes had shifted down to staring into her lap. "I do."

Saturn smiled briefly. He leaned in, arms folded on the table. "I appreciate that a lot," he said. Even though Mars continued to look down and avoid eye contact, Saturn looked at her with a serious expression and tried to make eye contact. "I came here because I wanted you to know something. Something you may have thought of, or maybe not, but something I want to at least affirm for you, and it's that time is running out. Things are moving quickly, much faster than I think any of us anticipated. We're ahead of schedule. That's definitely a good thing. That also means that things are going to change quite a bit. Things already have changed, and I think you've noticed. The main thing is, things aren't going to be the same, success or failure. There's a point of no return and we're past it."

Mars looked up at Saturn.

"There's no satisfying answer to it, but I'm worried," said Saturn. "I don't want to think I'm alone in that. I want to treasure these moments. Because, success or failure, we need each other. We do. These are too important times in our lives. I worry because, as selfish as it sounds, I know the gap is closing. Our lives are going to change forever-"

"Success or failure," Mars finished.

"Right. Does it bother you as much as it bothers me that we'll stop growing? The deed will be done? The people we know ourselves to be will be gone? And the thing we want most is to have that stripped of ourselves? An existence removed from the challenges and flaws that shaped us into the people we are? We would be the last people to have known that?"

Saturn paused.

"It scares me. This is the last opportunity I'll ever have to do any of that. It'll be over, and I'll have no more to learn. No more goals to go for. That would be the end. And you know what? I think Cyrus knew that, all along. He's not that much older than us, but I see him and I see something old and tired, used, unfazed by anything new. He's not crazy either. The vision of something brand new that no one else can see, it doesn't ring in as crazy to any of us. There's nothing to discuss, and it's not filled by a void. And I think, if I can believe he doesn't see doubts in his plan, if his vision is as perfect as we've made it out to be, a lack of growth does not mean death as it always has."

The clipboard facing Saturn flipped around once more, facing Mars. Saturn flipped the pages to face the one he had originally shown her. He pointed to the highlighted section of the report.

"This confirms it, just as he said. That's why it's important. It's a way. If he isn't worried about it, I think I have no reason to worry either."

Saturn flipped the clipboard to face him. Slowly, he pulled out the highlighted page he had just shown Mars. When it caught on the staple, Saturn tugged even harder and tore it loose. Between the two of them, where they could plainly see, Saturn crumpled the paper up into a ball.

Mars' eyes widened.

"So," Saturn continued. "Do I think I'm going to get in trouble with Cyrus? Disobeying a direct order for you to work this out alone? Taking part in your punishment, when I don't have any reason to experience it? No, absolutely not. I don't think it even matters. Cyrus doesn't care about growth. It doesn't fit into his plan. To him, it's simply aesthetic. It's what emotions are, the concept of spirit, and the notion of meaning: absolutely unnecessary. Growth is a bi-product of struggle, learning a bi-product of how to deal with those struggles. If Cyrus was crazy, he wouldn't have a way. Failure doesn't change this. If we can get rid of struggles, we don't have to grow. He's doing us a favor, removing our struggles, because then we become transcendent of our flaws. Growth truly becomes aesthetic. Cyrus' punishment to you was the isolation, not the potential 'infection'. It was to _you_, not as you. He knows your emotions are your strength and he wants you to set them aside in this situation to deal with your problems rationally. The issue isn't where you're supposed to grow or not grow, that's not the issue at all."

"It's about breaking trust. This is okay because I'm building it," finished Saturn.

The spork dropped from Mars's hands, bouncing off the edge of the plastic lunch tray, scuttling across the aluminum surface of the lunch table and finally clattering on the smooth concrete floors. Mars was too deep in thought to think about it, looking blankly at the top of her tray without really knowing it. Idly, she wiped her mouth on her napkin.

* * *

_It's a sign that I'm alone with my thoughts, once again. This time it scares me. My own voice rattling in my head, always and forever, never ceasing as long as I can have the notion of wanting something. It's the only reason I can think to write in here any more. This dumb log has been hanging over my head for the past several months incessantly. It was supposed to end as I would have in Floaroma Town, with my mission at the Valley Windworks ending and no one reading my reports. Even though it's true, it's unfair to say my mission was cut short, especially when we got all the power transferred to the batteries before the kid stopped me. I don't believe it was a failure either. Though Charon was there to collect some of the bounty (so to speak) much later in the mission, I don't believe it was a team effort. That was myself and my greatest success. Sure no one believed me when I told them I was beat by a kid (very sorrily, in all honesty, though it was close), it was the first time we butted heads, but not the last or even the best. She's pitted herself against every commander I've met/care about and won. While it bothers me that they beat them so easily, that she beat me so quickly at the Windworks with only a single badge, it's not the single thing that bothered me. I know it could easily have kept me up for nights without ever resolving, but it doesn't stick with me as much as everything else about it. Truth be told, I was looking forward to a couple months at the Windworks. It was the first time I'd ever been trusted with anything at Team Galactic. I wanted it to mean something. I'm fine that it was successful, that's as arguably as important as the first encounter with the kid, or even meeting Commander Charon for the first time. It just didn't mean anything. I treasured that, for the first time, I had something that set me aside from the grunts, beyond telling them what to do. I drove my Purugly hard. I refused to let the possibility of failure enter into the situation, even when it was hypothetical. It meant something to me. _

_Maybe that's why I still write in this log, the last remaining piece of that mission. I've still got Purugly, my skirt, some of the responsibilities managing the power I obtained, even the little electrical burns on my knuckles and down my left arm from hooking up the machine for the first time. The log means the most to me. When I write in it, I feel a little like the mission is still going on. That little feeling of wonder is something I haven't felt in forever. Truth is, I did feel it. I know where to place that feeling in time, because I can't place it anywhere else but the times where I first wrote in it. That's the first time I felt important in this whole thing, and that's how I want it to be._

* * *

"Am I making sense at all? Mars?" asked Saturn, leaning down to look at Mars as she stared down into her tray. "I know that was a lot. I didn't want to overwhelm you, really. I just wanted to help you understand. If it didn't help I'm sorry."

* * *

_It's been a long time since I've been in fundamental school, though not as long as my colleagues remind me it was (they may be right, too), but I still remember a few things. I was never a fantastic writer. When it came to Math, Science, or even Sports or History, I was still worse than what I did in English, and that still wasn't an incredible period of my education. I actually applied in English. None of the other subjects were as interesting, and I wasn't allowed to take art. I cared about English. Cyrus taught me about how emotionally driven I was from the start, and while hindsight is 20/20, it seems so clear that English is where I should have done the best to begin with. _

_I don't know that Jupiter, Saturn, or even Charon had logs when they had their mission, and sometimes I wonder if I was special to have a log when I went to the Windworks. I'm certainly not known for my writing, and I know I shouldn't be for sure, but I know it's the one thing I get into. Still, there's a little voice in the back of my head that it might be true, that Cyrus wanted me writing these, and maybe he knew I'd still write them. It's a very little voice, meaning almost nothing in the big picture, but that little spark of possibility means the world to me. Cyrus knows a thing or two about emotions, I suppose that's why he hates them so, and he knows what I am. I can write down every little nonsensical detail that I think matters to me and be passionate about it. Maybe this is where he wanted me to grow._

_Again, it's been a long time since fundamental school, but I do remember a few things, and I do know what a soliloquy is. That's what I'd like to think this whole thing is, one giant recap of what I think matters. A soliloquy is all sentiment. It genuinely is worthless if you can't feel a thing or care. That's what makes something like Shakespeare so much drier than anything written prewar. You can't read Shakespeare if you don't care. It becomes a chronicle of how the character grows, but it most importantly makes it personal. I'd never admit I liked Shakespeare because that's just not true. I can appreciate certain things, though. Soliloquy is interesting and deep, exposing the intricate layers of a story that's otherwise boring and uninteresting. Human beings think, and pages of stories don't, but the more real a human being in a story becomes the more someone can relate to and understand those pages. If I'm doing anything at all, it's relating, because sometimes people need to understand. Sometimes, I'm the one who needs to understand._

_One giant recap of what I think matters. Finding meaning somewhere in these. That's what I most think I wish was real. That's a feeling that's grown on me._

* * *

"Well, if I'm getting through to you at all, I just want you to know this," said Saturn. "Time is running out. Time is running out to grow, to learn, and to be human. Someday all that's going to change and it's coming very soon. Think of it as a bucket list. No, as your bucket list. A bucket list you have to fulfill in a certain amount of time. And I want you to know, that that time is running out."

* * *

_That's the other thing about soliloquy: it's not real. None of it is real. This log is real, and that's what tears it away from being soliloquy. As interesting as I can think soliloquy is, it's not real, and it's not real because it's impractical. There is absolutely no reason for soliloquy to exist, and that's why it doesn't in the real world. It adds depth where there is none. Soliloquy is a technique for making things real and understandable where they aren't, and that doesn't need to be here._

_But it does._

* * *

The table rattled. Mars winced as she felt a sharp pain in her leg, causing her to look down immediately. She had been standing up. Her thighs embedded into a sharp edge of the table where the aluminum curled around into a faux edge. Sighing, she swung her leg over the bench and finished standing up.

She brushed a stray red hair from her bangs back into perfect unison, while she thought of something snappy to say back to Saturn. Nothing.

"Going to inspect the grunts?" asked Saturn. He hadn't looked up from his clipboard.

Mars stared at him for a moment, then sighed and looked at a small group of grunts reenacting her incident with the spork; particularly the last part of it. "Yeah," she said. "I'll get to it."

* * *

_It's my worst fear, and I'm living it. It's a fiction. Nothing about what is happening is real. I wear a latex skirt and go-go boots to work everyday. My coworkers are lavender-haired mobsters and bluenettes with hair shaped like cat-ears. My boss hasn't smiled for his entire life, and that's the first thing that bothers me above him playing god. Our entire careers are built around myths people wrote about thousands of years ago, __pre__-prewar, about things we can't prove and that no one knows or cares about. We're fighting a war against the human race and nature itself._

_And maybe that's the strangest thing about the Windworks. The thing that let me down most of all when I didn't need it. I never received another task like the Windworks again. I was so successful with the short month I was at the Windworks that I was never needed again, and I hardly did anything. I gave a performance that should have resulted in my promotion and I did hardly anything to achieve it. It's a cosmic insult, knowing that my best work and human potential was so brief, and that I know it will never appear again if we succeed. What I did at the Windworks, my 'best' work? I held a sweatshop in a bunch of scientist's own labs. I overworked them for days on minimal food, water, and sleep. I embodied human cruelty to save their race, like prisoners of war liberating themselves. I kicked a six-year-old daughter out, away from her dad as I overworked him and his colleagues without promise of hope, a daughter who I didn't have to try to relate to. This was all I was good for. Maybe it's not shocking I was beat by a kid. Maybe I let it happen._

_Then what happened at _**_Celestic Town_**_? Nothing I know compared to what I did at the Windworks. I got frustrated with Commander Jupiter for little to no reason (and reasons I've already written about in my last log). I don't really care what happened, but I'm mad that I got in trouble. I had only read about people who put human rights violations above traitorous actions until I joined Team Galactic. I know Commander Jupiter has a special place in her heart for disloyalty, I know I poked it, and I know that I was kicked out of the Commander's Break Room because of it._

* * *

"If you can, we need someone to review new recruits and set up interviews and organize training sessions," said Saturn. "Do you think you can handle it?"

Mars nodded, adjusting her skirt. "Absolutely. Will that be all?"

Looking up from his clipboard, Saturn swallowed what he was chewing. "Yes, Commander... You're aware you don't take orders from me, right?"

* * *

_Maybe this is necessary, like ripping a bandage off._

_Maybe I'm oversimplifying it._

_Maybe the human race deserves to be treated like prisoners of war, like slaves, if that's the thing that saves itself._

_Maybe this is where I start believing in higher good. _

_Maybe I can't have faith in humans._

* * *

"Might as well," said Mars under her breath, sighing gently.

* * *

_The moment I start to justify any of this, is when this becomes a fiction. This shouldn't be happening, but it is. Logic has been replaced by something far scarier, and I've just never noticed._

_This is the last thing I have to say about soliloquy, and hopefully it'll stop being an issue. I don't care that this is fiction, and I certainly don't care that I got in trouble over _**_Celestic Town_**_, especially when I already know I'm in the wrong and I deserve it. I'm bothered by the fact that Windworks didn't matter, both in the grand scheme of things and to myself. I never got what I deserved from the Windworks, the punishment for my unspeakable cruelties, and I can feel it coming soon. For me, it's unresolved. Even if it's remotely equal to what I deserve for the Windworks, it'll be big, and I know that Team Galactic probably deserves it too. They'll bear the blunt force of this. _

_This is the fiction. This is where the greatest moments of my life happened, and I don't know why._

_This is where the fiction ended. I started it, and I finished it._

_I'm proud to say this is all wrong. The only thing I regret is not saying something sooner._

_Soliloquy is a descriptive tool. It's a means to an end. I've already said that I need it to work through what I think, but I'm no longer alone in this. Someone else needs to read this. Someone else needs to understand what happened._

_I can't be alone, especially when I don't know what happened to Commander Jupiter, Saturn, Charon, or even Cyrus. I don't even know what happened to Team Galactic. All I know is that the fiction ended, and Team Galactic entered the real world. I don't know where it is any more. I need help finding it._

_This log is my last log. The last log I will ever make for Team Galactic. Appropriately, it will chronicle it's collapse, because that's all that's left now._

_And I still need to make sense of it for myself._

_-Commander Mars_

* * *

The exit was only a short walk away. Mars managed to think for all of it.


End file.
